Prologue
- Location
- Uppsala, Sweden
19 October 194-,
Somewhere in Troms fylke, Norway.
A frozen, poor, hungry and tired soldier was walking along an imposing mountain wall in the dead of night carrying a lantern. He was looking for something. Him and a dozen or so other German soldiers. They had each been assigned into pairs and given zones on a map. He didn't really know what he was looking for, but apparently, it was of supreme importance that he found it. Twenty minutes ago, the soldier and his assigned partner had reached this mountain wall and had split up, him going to the left, the other to the right. This actually went against their orders, but they had been here now for hours, and the sooner they get the sweeping of the area done, the better. The sooner they could all go home.
The past few weeks had not been kind to Hermann Schmidt. The simple son of a simple butcher from rural Bavaria, Hermann had never seen the sea before boarding the boat up in Lübeck, and it had absolutely refused to make a good first impression on him on his journey hither. Sick and pale, he had stepped ashore in Narvik. Looking out at the waters from its port, it truly felt like you stood by the edge of the world, and not in a good way.
Hermann couldn't pretend he understood much of why he and his fellow Germans were even up here in the first place. Oh, Hermann had much respect and admiration for the Führer. Although he had only been a kid at the time, he could remember the constant gloom and poverty of the Depression, the various politicians from ever fracturing parties doing horse-trading in Berlin, forming short alliances and coalitions for personal gain, only to let the government shatter the moment opportunity called them elsewhere, and Germany suffering as a consequence. He had respect for the man who had brought an end to this farce, who believed in Germany and put its welfare ahead of his own. National Socialist rule had brought so much good to Germany, his family could find employment again suddenly, infrastructure and imposing structure growing up all around him. In just a couple of years, Germany had once again asserted itself as a country its citizenry could be proud to call their home. So when the great foreign powers that had so shamed her only a few decades ago now wanted to take this sense of self-respect away from them again, of course he was proud to be in the army. Of course, he was proud to serve in the forces of the Reich. He had been prepared to serve in trenches fighting Frenchmen and Englishmen, edging ever closer to his proud country's borders. For some reason, he was now in Norway.
The locals were hardly appreciative of him and his fellow Germans. He could understand that, of course. He had heard the old veterans tell stories of French soldiers occupying German lands after the Great War. Nobody liked the constant presence of a foreign occupation army, always reminding them that they were now a defeated people. That it would be difficult to deal with them was only to be expected. They were bitter, and of course, the only language they knew were Norwegian, and the only language Hermann knew was German.
But yet, there was something about their taciturn behaviour, the certain look in their eyes, the way in which they never seemed truly happy or content with anything. A fellow German soldier had made the same observation and joked that it was as if the Scandinavians had elected to build their country on the back of a sleeping Leviathan, a monster from the ancient world, and they were constantly living in fear that it would one day wake up. Hermann had laughed at this joke. And yet, as the days turned into week, he was constantly reminded of it. As if he was starting to believe it. That perhaps there was something to it.
Since his arrival, he had yet to observe a single sunny day, and when you patrolled the landscape, you could feel the presence of the trolls and giants the locals had invented for their folklore. You could easily convince yourself of that there were krakens swimming in the sea. Maybe the country truly was build on the back of a sleeping Leviathan?
By unfortunate happenstance, Hermann had found himself volunteering for a strange mission up here in Østfold fylke. Finding himself doing as such, because when no one actually volunteered for the mission, his commanding officer had simply started designating soldiers in his group as volunteering by random. Hermann had anticipated that the mission had something to do with a strike against the resistance which rumour had it were hiding up here, and that that was the reason for all the secrecy. King Haakon VII kept making damned speeches from over in the relative safety of London, constantly inspiring his damned country men to resist and rise up against Quisling's government. But, he had soon found out that the resistance had nothing to do with this mission. He should have figured that out when he first arrived here. Of course there'd be no resistance lurking around in these woods! Not even Norwegians would ever actually want to go into hiding somewhere around here, would they?
No, instead, he had been assigned to go looking for some ancient structure that was supposed to be hidden around here. Some tomb constructed for a great Viking chieftain or another. Strange, Hermann suddenly found himself thinking, didn't the Vikings burn their dead on a funeral pyre? He didn't even know what he was supposed to be looking for, and he had been running around in the forest for hours now. What idiotic mission even was this?
Hermann kept walking down along the mountain wall, feeling awfully small in its presence. Its eroded surface seemed almost alive, as if this was the scarred skin of the ancient sleeping Leviathan his comrade had spoken of. He wanted to go home. Back to Bavaria. Back to his mother, his father who would be needing his help working in the butcher's shop (the poor man really was getting too old to manage), back to Teresa, back to...
Hermann stopped. Before him were a massive mound of rocks. Though they were covered with moss and evidently had been allowed to rest in peace for a very long time, it didn't take Hermann long to recognize that these round boulders had not congregated here like this by natural means. There was no way they could have rolled down and just stopped here. These were stones made round and nice by eons of erosion. Someone, at some point, must have transported them all here from across the woods and piled them upon one another. Trying to lift one of them, and failing, he recognized that this wasn't the work of a lone man. A full team would have been necessary for this.
Taking off his gloves, he brushed away the moss, and soon he saw that the boulders were not perfectly round as he had originally thought. Bringing his lantern closer, he saw that they were covered with inscriptions, fine inscriptions made by a capable craftsman. Runes.
Hermann took up his flare gun and sent a lone, red signal up in the sky. All his fears left him, and he felt nothing but relief. He had found the place. Soon, he would be able to go home to his barracks and finally catch some much needed sleep...
-------------
"You have done a good job tonight, Gefreiter Schmidt, and I can assure you that the Reich will not soon forget the deed you accomplished here."
Gruppenführer Reichsaufstieg said the words without looking Hermann in the eyes, instead focusing his attention of the five soldiers applying all their strength on getting rid off the final runestone from the bound. Hermann didn't mind it. With Reichsaufstieg's scarred face and glass eye, he much preferred not facing the Gruppenführer's gaze.
"Gruppenführer, I am grateful, but I must admit I cannot claim it was much I actually did."
Reichsaufstieg didn't appear to acknowledge this statement.
"I, err-... Literally all I did was walk along a mountain wall."
"Effort is of little relevance here, Gefreiter. If you only knew what's in this tomb, and how much the Reich has sought it..."
The soldiers had placed their lanterns around the mound and, slowly, but steadily removed the rune stones one after another. It was far more difficult than it should be. Surely boulders of that size shouldn't way this much? The Gruppenführer stepped forward and looked at the closed stone gate before them, hewed into the mountain itself. Around the gate were further runes. These ones even larger, more finely chiseled into the rock.
"Herr Ingenieur? Does the door present us with a problem?"
The military engineer attached to the group, Wilhelm Armbrüster, was examining the door, knocking at it, listening carefully.
"Not one we cannot handle, Gruppenführer. A little dynamite, and we'll be through."
"Excellent."
Hermann stepped back while Armbrüster took up his equipment and set up the charges. He looked down at the boulders with the strange runic inscriptions. He wondered what they said. He knew the Vikings had been fond of their rune stones, writing epic poetry on them, tales of their travels and accomplishments, memories, history. But he was quite sure that it wasn't particularly common for there to be so many runestones near one another, on top of one another, arranged in a mound.
"Feuer im Loch!"
-------------
With the use of the flashlights, the group of Nazi soldiers got their eyes on the inner chamber of the tomb, unseen by human eyes for over a millennia. Before them were wealth and riches beyond their dreams. Greek golden coins from the Byzantine Empire, silver from a Western Roman Empire struggling desperately to survive countless invading barbarian hordes, even bronze buddhas from India, transported hither by adventurous Norse river farers, presumably having changed hands many times on their long journey. Towards one wall was a preserved Viking longship that must have been taken apart and re-assembled here since it could obviously not fit through the opening. The carvings were exquisite, parts of the surface gilded. The frozen and tired German boys were astounded. Gruppenführer Reichsaufstieg was unmoved by any of it.
"The precious metals and gemstones are immaterial. We can always come back for it later. If indeed we find it worthwhile coming back for it later. What we are looking for is worth more than everything else in this tomb and all the gold in Frankfurt added to that. Find me the sarcophagus!"
The soldiers nodded and started looking. Meanwhile, Engineer Armbrüster walked up to Reichsaufstieg.
"I must admit I am somewhat confused by all of this. I recall quite well from my days as a school boy that the Vikings burned their dead. I would have expected this scene from the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh. Not a Norse chieftain."
For the first time, Reichsaufstieg smiled.
"Oh, but Herr Armbrüster, this is no ordinary chieftain whose tomb we are in!"
"You don't say?" said the Engineer. "Well, obviously the Reich wouldn't send us on an archaeological expedition in Norway in the middle of the war if they thought it was."
"The orders come directly from the Führer himself, Herr Armbrüster... Have you ever heard the Legend of Ragnvald Helfari?"
"I am afraid I have not." the military engineer admitted. "A big name I would presume."
"A big, yet in these latter days obscure name."
"Was he the fellow who crossed the Atlantic and went to Vinland?" the engineer tried.
"No, no, that would be Leif Erickson. He sailed almost two hundred years after this guy was alive."
"I see." said Armbrüster. "How about the chieftain who pretended to be dying to storm an Italian city, said he wanted to convert to Christianity before the end, and once the people had let him in, he promptly raided the place, thinking it was Rome?"
"You're getting closer. That's Hastein, mein herr."
"Okay." The Military Engineer thought some more.
"How about-...?"
"You're off again by two hundred years. William the Conqueror is buried in Normandy."
Armbrüster was a bit perturbed by the fact that Reichsaufstieg had correctly guessed what Viking he was thinking of.
"Well, I give up", he admitted, "Who was Ragnar Helleflundri?"
"Ragnvald Helfari", said the Gruppenführer. "Ragnvald Helfari was a man who lived back when the world was younger, and heathen magic was still around. It was dying, but slowly so. A contemporary of Aun the Old, a descendant of King Fróði of Denmark and Visbur of Sweden. Much like Leif Erickson, Ragnvald too went on an epic odyssey, but his voyage took him to a place all together different-..."
"Gruppenführer!" a voice called out. Reichsaufstieg stopped in his story.
"Yes?"
"We've found the sarcophagus!"
The Gruppenführer and the military engineer walked over to the two soldiers who were pointing with their flashlights at the stone coffin. Their officer nodded and gestured for them to get the lid off. Beneath, was the mummified, almost sceletal remains of a man who had lived long before Germany had even existed as an idea. His eyes were so far sunken into its sockets that they appeared to be gone, his white beard silvery in the light. There was something about his face that wasn't actually scary, but more as if what they had seen was scary. He was dressed in gilded battle armour. His arms and hands were clasping a leather codex. The Gruppenführer smiled and, respectfully, carefully, yet quickly, removed the book from the dead man's hold. Opening it, he looked upon hundreds of pages of runic manuscript, with illustrations in bleak colours.
"We have what we came for." He said. "Let's get out of here. The faster the better!"
"Now, now, gentlemen, not so fast!"
The voice came from behind them, German, but with some Anglo-accent. The person who had spoken the words stood at the opening of the tomb, and soon the flashlights were on him. He seemed unfazed by the sudden flood of light coming at him. In fact, he almost seemed to be enjoying it. He was wearing his trademark khaki slacks and jacket, and his equally trademark a wide-rimmed, weather-worn fedora. His big square jaw (slightly unshaven) complemented an already oblong face, with eyes that seemed to naturally radiate a relaxed and naturally jolly persona even in the most dire of circumstances, almost as if he had always had a whiskey or three relatively recently. To his fervent admirers and fierce enemies, his features were unmistakable.
"Doctor Jackson Rivers", smirked Gruppenführer Reichsaufstieg. "We meet at last."
"Professor Jackson Rivers!" the man replied. "Honoured to finally make your acquaintance as well."
He looked toward the confused soldiers.
"Now boys, I'd say we place that book back in the dead man's hands and get out of here. It's kind of chilly around here, ain't it?"
"Professor Jackson Rivers? So it would appear that the University of Sydney finally found the wits to give you that tenure."
"Indeed, they did."
"Still, I can't help being surprised. Though a clever man, reputable institutions are not known to award such prizes to archaeologists with as... unorthodox methods as you prone to employ."
"One does what one have to-..."
"And a history of destroying historically important artifacts and monuments... In fact, I seem to recall that you are a wanted man over in Egypt?"
"Well-..."
"And Mexico, I understand?"
"That was-..."
"And Indochina? And Peru? And Japan? And then of course, there's the matter of your little Chinese adventure..."
"Now, err, about China-..."
"Indeed, most archaeologists in the Reich have it that you're not even an archaeologist at all, but merely a glorified tomb raider, who-..."
"How about we carry on this conversation in English, bitte? Wouldn't want your boys to overhear something they should?"
Reichsaufstieg shrugged, and reached for his pocket.
"Zure, why not?" he said with a heavy German accent. Rivers moved to his gun, but the Gruppenführer raised his hands, showing that he was only holding a package of cigarettes and a lighter. Rivers relaxed.
"So, you seem to know an awful lot about me, don't you, Gruppenführer Manfred Reichsaufstieg, or should I call you by your real name, Manfred von Richthofen?"
The Gruppenführer smiled.
"So you know ze truth, huh?"
"Actually, I only ever heard a rumour. I took a chance."
The Red Baron was enjoying this.
"How did you survive, Baron?" Rivers continued.
"Oh, ze same old story, same old. I crashed by ze Somme, that's true, but I was fortunate enough to be rescued by a poor French farm girl. She didn't know who I was, but she fell in love with me, and hid me away, nursing me back to health. By the time I had recovered, I found the war to be over, my Kaiserreich no more, replaced by a pitiful Weimar Republic. So, I decided zere was no more reason for there to be a Red Baron von Richthofen. That day Manfred Reichsaufstieg was born."
"And that's when you decided to join the Nazi Party?"
"Well, zere were a couple of years in-between, but-... well, zis story, it's for another day."
"Put the codex back, Baron. You and all your minions. Get out of here, blast this tomb shut, and let's pray that humans never discover this place ever again. In return, I'll let you go."
The Red Baron laughed.
"Zehehe! Zo, you know what this is then, do you, Professor Rivers?"
"It's written in large runic letters above the entrance, and on the countless boulders before this tomb, urging people to turn away."
"Why of course, Jackson Rivers himself, fluent in dozens of languages, among them Etruscan, Middle Japanese, Babylonian, Atlantean, and of course... Old Norse. So you know about the Legend of Ragnvald Helfari?"
"Who do you take me to be?" Rivers shrugged. "Basically an ancient Scandinavian variation of the legend of Orpheus and Eurodice. Ragnvald was the greatest Viking chieftain of his age, leading expeditions to the Rus, Byzantium, apparently, he even made it all the way to India. He came back a wealthy, powerful man, and yet, all his treasure couldn't console him when his beloved wife died. He swore to get revenge, and so sought out the entrance to Hel itself, to drag her back to the world of the living, to Midgård.
"And he found it, somewhere in the darker reaches of the world, and with his famous crew ventured in thither. He never found his wife. All his crew perished. Ragnvald was the only man to make it out. The rest were lost. Heartbroken, he came back and wrote down his long Saga in a codex. The Saga was said to contain the instructions for how one could find the Gates of Hel and enter it once again, but his people, afraid of what might happen if the Gates were once again broken, refused to keep the book with them. Ragnvald had seen enough fire for all eternity during his travels, and so requested a burial in the mountains. Eternal dreamless sleep. And his people, they buried his book with him. The very codex you are now holding."
The Red Baron had been nodding appreciatively all the way through Rivers' recollection of the legend.
"And do you believe it? Do you believe there truly are Gates to Hell to be found?"
"When the world was younger, stranger things were happening. And all legends have an element of truth to them. Hel, Hades, Xibalba, Naraka. They are all just different words, all referring to the same place."
"Then perhaps you would want to join me in zis... grand archaeological endeavor?"
"I wouldn't presume. Put the codex back, Baron. I don't know who Mr. Hitler thinks he's kidding when he thinks that he can open the Gates to Hell, but if he's successful, he can only certain that the Ruler of Hell will look no more fondly on his desires than he did on Ragnvald's. The Lord of the Underworld does not readily make alliances."
"Oh, but Professor Rivers, we are not looking for an alliance! We are looking for an invasion!"
Rivers now started laughing.
"An invasion?! Why would anyone ever want to invade Hell?"
"To seize the arsenals of the underworld."
"Do you know how crazy that sounds? Invade an armory to seize the arsenal? Why, that would be as insane as-... as-...?"
"Storming ze Bastille?"
"Well, yeah, but, in all logical probability that shouldn't by any reasonable narrative have been successful. You're not looking at the Ancient Regime here. Whatever weaponry you think you can steal from the Lord of the Underworld can just as easily be turned against you, especially if you walk through the front door."
"Ja, indeed, except if we were to have a zertain zpecial weapon which, went turned on any earthly power would be utterly useless, but when turned against the forces of Hell would spell our overwhelming victory..."
"Spell your overwhelming victory-...?"
Rivers stopped. Then he realized.
"So that rumour is also true. You have found the Spear of Destiny."
"With it in our hands, we shall march into Hell and claim the weapons of damnation for ourzelves. And zen, we shall turn it on the world. Your little experiments of zmashing atoms against one another won't zave you then...!"
"Very well", said Rivers, "Then I guess I have no choice but to stop you all here and now..."
The Red Baron drew his gun and shot, but Jackson Rivers had already jumped out of the entrance into the tomb, rolling and disappearing among the lot. The German soldiers started shooting towards his general direction.
"Stop it!" the Baron yelled out. "The bullets might ricochet!"
"What was that about, Gruppenführer?" one soldier asked.
"Nothing! Find the man and bring him to me!"
The soldiers spread out, and started methodically searching through the spacious chamber. Sounds could be heard, steps, but it was difficult to tell from whence they were coming, whether it was Rivers or the soldiers. The echos played tricks on the ears.
Suddenly one soldier was hit in the head by something sharp and fell down. His comrade standing next to him, bent over concerned, only to be hit in the head with the same object. The Red Baron immediately realized what was going on.
"Be careful! Jackson Rivers was orphaned at age 5, grew up with the savage natives of Australia, he is an expert with that boomerang! It always returns to him!"
There was a sound from behind the gilded longship, a small fizzling bottle flew out.
An explosion.
The soldiers turned away in confusion.
"A Molotov cocktail, but only a diversion!" the Red Baron called out. "Keep steady!"
There was another chunking sound, and a further soldier fell to the ground.
"Verdammter Australier!"
The confusion continued. Another molotov cocktail came flying. Now from an entirely different direction. The soldiers started shooting again in the direction from whence the bottle had come from, but they hit nothing. Instead, yet another soldier was knocked out by the boomerang.
"For the love of God, stop shooting!" the Red Baron called out.
The events continued, one after another, the soldiers kept getting knocked out. Finally, only the Red Baron was still standing up. He picked up one of the flashlights the soldiers had dropped and looked around. He was careful. Trying his very best to remain and look calm, yet being nervous inside. His other hand held fast to his gun, with the codex containing the Saga of Ragnvald Helfair tucked beneath his arm.
"Got him, Gruppenführer!"
It was Armbrüster. He came out from behind the longship. Before him was Jackson Rivers, with his arms raised in the air, one hand holding the boomerang, behind him walked the military engineer, pointing a gun at Rivers' back.
"It was quite easy, sir, all I had to do was wait in the same hidden space, and know that eventually, he would have to-..."
In a single moment, Rivers turned around, knocked out Armbrüster cold with his boomerang, and grabbed the gun the military engineer had been holding. The event took place too fast, the Red Baron didn't have time to register or respond. Rivers pointed the gun right up into the Baron's face.
"Drop your weapon."
Bitterly, Manfred von Richthofen obliged.
"Now then..." Rivers said, smiling. "I think it's only appropriate that you hand that book back to Mister Ragnvald over there, I think he's-..."
Why was everything suddenly so dark? thought Jackson Rivers. And oddly comfortable and warm for a late autumn night in Nor-...
Oh.
…
…
Fuck.
…
"Thank you, Hermann, that was very smart of you, playing knocked out like that!" Richthofen, or Reichsaufstieg, offered.
"Just doing my job, Gruppenführer."
"Like any good patriotic German boy would! I can assure you that whatever rewards where to be given you for finding this place will be tripled. You truly did a good deed here today."
Hermann glanced at the dead Australian beside them.
"Who was he?"
"One of the Reich's most dangerous enemies. You-... You didn't hear our conversation?"
"I'm afraid I don't speak English, Gruppenführer."
"Oh." the Red Baron realized, "Of course."
"What was all that about?"
"He stood in our way, and came quite close to bringing an end to all our hard work."
"And that?" Hermann gestured to the codex.
"This, Gefreiter, is the key to the door. The door to our victory. And you just guaranteed it for us."
For the first time in a long while, Hermann felt relieved and at peace. He had shown bravery, he had shown ingenuity, he had fought and he had accomplished something tangible. And indeed, if the Gruppenführer were to be believed, this book, whatever it was, would soon help the Reich triumph on the battlefield.
Hermann looked forward to peace one day being restored to the world and the Fatherland. He looked forward to the promise that he would get recognition for having played part in accomplishing this, however small the role was.
But most of all, Hermann looked forward to returning to the barracks and finally get some sleep in a warm bed.
Hermann was happy.
He was one of the good guys.
Somewhere in Troms fylke, Norway.
A frozen, poor, hungry and tired soldier was walking along an imposing mountain wall in the dead of night carrying a lantern. He was looking for something. Him and a dozen or so other German soldiers. They had each been assigned into pairs and given zones on a map. He didn't really know what he was looking for, but apparently, it was of supreme importance that he found it. Twenty minutes ago, the soldier and his assigned partner had reached this mountain wall and had split up, him going to the left, the other to the right. This actually went against their orders, but they had been here now for hours, and the sooner they get the sweeping of the area done, the better. The sooner they could all go home.
The past few weeks had not been kind to Hermann Schmidt. The simple son of a simple butcher from rural Bavaria, Hermann had never seen the sea before boarding the boat up in Lübeck, and it had absolutely refused to make a good first impression on him on his journey hither. Sick and pale, he had stepped ashore in Narvik. Looking out at the waters from its port, it truly felt like you stood by the edge of the world, and not in a good way.
Hermann couldn't pretend he understood much of why he and his fellow Germans were even up here in the first place. Oh, Hermann had much respect and admiration for the Führer. Although he had only been a kid at the time, he could remember the constant gloom and poverty of the Depression, the various politicians from ever fracturing parties doing horse-trading in Berlin, forming short alliances and coalitions for personal gain, only to let the government shatter the moment opportunity called them elsewhere, and Germany suffering as a consequence. He had respect for the man who had brought an end to this farce, who believed in Germany and put its welfare ahead of his own. National Socialist rule had brought so much good to Germany, his family could find employment again suddenly, infrastructure and imposing structure growing up all around him. In just a couple of years, Germany had once again asserted itself as a country its citizenry could be proud to call their home. So when the great foreign powers that had so shamed her only a few decades ago now wanted to take this sense of self-respect away from them again, of course he was proud to be in the army. Of course, he was proud to serve in the forces of the Reich. He had been prepared to serve in trenches fighting Frenchmen and Englishmen, edging ever closer to his proud country's borders. For some reason, he was now in Norway.
The locals were hardly appreciative of him and his fellow Germans. He could understand that, of course. He had heard the old veterans tell stories of French soldiers occupying German lands after the Great War. Nobody liked the constant presence of a foreign occupation army, always reminding them that they were now a defeated people. That it would be difficult to deal with them was only to be expected. They were bitter, and of course, the only language they knew were Norwegian, and the only language Hermann knew was German.
But yet, there was something about their taciturn behaviour, the certain look in their eyes, the way in which they never seemed truly happy or content with anything. A fellow German soldier had made the same observation and joked that it was as if the Scandinavians had elected to build their country on the back of a sleeping Leviathan, a monster from the ancient world, and they were constantly living in fear that it would one day wake up. Hermann had laughed at this joke. And yet, as the days turned into week, he was constantly reminded of it. As if he was starting to believe it. That perhaps there was something to it.
Since his arrival, he had yet to observe a single sunny day, and when you patrolled the landscape, you could feel the presence of the trolls and giants the locals had invented for their folklore. You could easily convince yourself of that there were krakens swimming in the sea. Maybe the country truly was build on the back of a sleeping Leviathan?
By unfortunate happenstance, Hermann had found himself volunteering for a strange mission up here in Østfold fylke. Finding himself doing as such, because when no one actually volunteered for the mission, his commanding officer had simply started designating soldiers in his group as volunteering by random. Hermann had anticipated that the mission had something to do with a strike against the resistance which rumour had it were hiding up here, and that that was the reason for all the secrecy. King Haakon VII kept making damned speeches from over in the relative safety of London, constantly inspiring his damned country men to resist and rise up against Quisling's government. But, he had soon found out that the resistance had nothing to do with this mission. He should have figured that out when he first arrived here. Of course there'd be no resistance lurking around in these woods! Not even Norwegians would ever actually want to go into hiding somewhere around here, would they?
No, instead, he had been assigned to go looking for some ancient structure that was supposed to be hidden around here. Some tomb constructed for a great Viking chieftain or another. Strange, Hermann suddenly found himself thinking, didn't the Vikings burn their dead on a funeral pyre? He didn't even know what he was supposed to be looking for, and he had been running around in the forest for hours now. What idiotic mission even was this?
Hermann kept walking down along the mountain wall, feeling awfully small in its presence. Its eroded surface seemed almost alive, as if this was the scarred skin of the ancient sleeping Leviathan his comrade had spoken of. He wanted to go home. Back to Bavaria. Back to his mother, his father who would be needing his help working in the butcher's shop (the poor man really was getting too old to manage), back to Teresa, back to...
Hermann stopped. Before him were a massive mound of rocks. Though they were covered with moss and evidently had been allowed to rest in peace for a very long time, it didn't take Hermann long to recognize that these round boulders had not congregated here like this by natural means. There was no way they could have rolled down and just stopped here. These were stones made round and nice by eons of erosion. Someone, at some point, must have transported them all here from across the woods and piled them upon one another. Trying to lift one of them, and failing, he recognized that this wasn't the work of a lone man. A full team would have been necessary for this.
Taking off his gloves, he brushed away the moss, and soon he saw that the boulders were not perfectly round as he had originally thought. Bringing his lantern closer, he saw that they were covered with inscriptions, fine inscriptions made by a capable craftsman. Runes.
Hermann took up his flare gun and sent a lone, red signal up in the sky. All his fears left him, and he felt nothing but relief. He had found the place. Soon, he would be able to go home to his barracks and finally catch some much needed sleep...
-------------
"You have done a good job tonight, Gefreiter Schmidt, and I can assure you that the Reich will not soon forget the deed you accomplished here."
Gruppenführer Reichsaufstieg said the words without looking Hermann in the eyes, instead focusing his attention of the five soldiers applying all their strength on getting rid off the final runestone from the bound. Hermann didn't mind it. With Reichsaufstieg's scarred face and glass eye, he much preferred not facing the Gruppenführer's gaze.
"Gruppenführer, I am grateful, but I must admit I cannot claim it was much I actually did."
Reichsaufstieg didn't appear to acknowledge this statement.
"I, err-... Literally all I did was walk along a mountain wall."
"Effort is of little relevance here, Gefreiter. If you only knew what's in this tomb, and how much the Reich has sought it..."
The soldiers had placed their lanterns around the mound and, slowly, but steadily removed the rune stones one after another. It was far more difficult than it should be. Surely boulders of that size shouldn't way this much? The Gruppenführer stepped forward and looked at the closed stone gate before them, hewed into the mountain itself. Around the gate were further runes. These ones even larger, more finely chiseled into the rock.
"Herr Ingenieur? Does the door present us with a problem?"
The military engineer attached to the group, Wilhelm Armbrüster, was examining the door, knocking at it, listening carefully.
"Not one we cannot handle, Gruppenführer. A little dynamite, and we'll be through."
"Excellent."
Hermann stepped back while Armbrüster took up his equipment and set up the charges. He looked down at the boulders with the strange runic inscriptions. He wondered what they said. He knew the Vikings had been fond of their rune stones, writing epic poetry on them, tales of their travels and accomplishments, memories, history. But he was quite sure that it wasn't particularly common for there to be so many runestones near one another, on top of one another, arranged in a mound.
"Feuer im Loch!"
-------------
With the use of the flashlights, the group of Nazi soldiers got their eyes on the inner chamber of the tomb, unseen by human eyes for over a millennia. Before them were wealth and riches beyond their dreams. Greek golden coins from the Byzantine Empire, silver from a Western Roman Empire struggling desperately to survive countless invading barbarian hordes, even bronze buddhas from India, transported hither by adventurous Norse river farers, presumably having changed hands many times on their long journey. Towards one wall was a preserved Viking longship that must have been taken apart and re-assembled here since it could obviously not fit through the opening. The carvings were exquisite, parts of the surface gilded. The frozen and tired German boys were astounded. Gruppenführer Reichsaufstieg was unmoved by any of it.
"The precious metals and gemstones are immaterial. We can always come back for it later. If indeed we find it worthwhile coming back for it later. What we are looking for is worth more than everything else in this tomb and all the gold in Frankfurt added to that. Find me the sarcophagus!"
The soldiers nodded and started looking. Meanwhile, Engineer Armbrüster walked up to Reichsaufstieg.
"I must admit I am somewhat confused by all of this. I recall quite well from my days as a school boy that the Vikings burned their dead. I would have expected this scene from the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh. Not a Norse chieftain."
For the first time, Reichsaufstieg smiled.
"Oh, but Herr Armbrüster, this is no ordinary chieftain whose tomb we are in!"
"You don't say?" said the Engineer. "Well, obviously the Reich wouldn't send us on an archaeological expedition in Norway in the middle of the war if they thought it was."
"The orders come directly from the Führer himself, Herr Armbrüster... Have you ever heard the Legend of Ragnvald Helfari?"
"I am afraid I have not." the military engineer admitted. "A big name I would presume."
"A big, yet in these latter days obscure name."
"Was he the fellow who crossed the Atlantic and went to Vinland?" the engineer tried.
"No, no, that would be Leif Erickson. He sailed almost two hundred years after this guy was alive."
"I see." said Armbrüster. "How about the chieftain who pretended to be dying to storm an Italian city, said he wanted to convert to Christianity before the end, and once the people had let him in, he promptly raided the place, thinking it was Rome?"
"You're getting closer. That's Hastein, mein herr."
"Okay." The Military Engineer thought some more.
"How about-...?"
"You're off again by two hundred years. William the Conqueror is buried in Normandy."
Armbrüster was a bit perturbed by the fact that Reichsaufstieg had correctly guessed what Viking he was thinking of.
"Well, I give up", he admitted, "Who was Ragnar Helleflundri?"
"Ragnvald Helfari", said the Gruppenführer. "Ragnvald Helfari was a man who lived back when the world was younger, and heathen magic was still around. It was dying, but slowly so. A contemporary of Aun the Old, a descendant of King Fróði of Denmark and Visbur of Sweden. Much like Leif Erickson, Ragnvald too went on an epic odyssey, but his voyage took him to a place all together different-..."
"Gruppenführer!" a voice called out. Reichsaufstieg stopped in his story.
"Yes?"
"We've found the sarcophagus!"
The Gruppenführer and the military engineer walked over to the two soldiers who were pointing with their flashlights at the stone coffin. Their officer nodded and gestured for them to get the lid off. Beneath, was the mummified, almost sceletal remains of a man who had lived long before Germany had even existed as an idea. His eyes were so far sunken into its sockets that they appeared to be gone, his white beard silvery in the light. There was something about his face that wasn't actually scary, but more as if what they had seen was scary. He was dressed in gilded battle armour. His arms and hands were clasping a leather codex. The Gruppenführer smiled and, respectfully, carefully, yet quickly, removed the book from the dead man's hold. Opening it, he looked upon hundreds of pages of runic manuscript, with illustrations in bleak colours.
"We have what we came for." He said. "Let's get out of here. The faster the better!"
"Now, now, gentlemen, not so fast!"
The voice came from behind them, German, but with some Anglo-accent. The person who had spoken the words stood at the opening of the tomb, and soon the flashlights were on him. He seemed unfazed by the sudden flood of light coming at him. In fact, he almost seemed to be enjoying it. He was wearing his trademark khaki slacks and jacket, and his equally trademark a wide-rimmed, weather-worn fedora. His big square jaw (slightly unshaven) complemented an already oblong face, with eyes that seemed to naturally radiate a relaxed and naturally jolly persona even in the most dire of circumstances, almost as if he had always had a whiskey or three relatively recently. To his fervent admirers and fierce enemies, his features were unmistakable.
"Doctor Jackson Rivers", smirked Gruppenführer Reichsaufstieg. "We meet at last."
"Professor Jackson Rivers!" the man replied. "Honoured to finally make your acquaintance as well."
He looked toward the confused soldiers.
"Now boys, I'd say we place that book back in the dead man's hands and get out of here. It's kind of chilly around here, ain't it?"
"Professor Jackson Rivers? So it would appear that the University of Sydney finally found the wits to give you that tenure."
"Indeed, they did."
"Still, I can't help being surprised. Though a clever man, reputable institutions are not known to award such prizes to archaeologists with as... unorthodox methods as you prone to employ."
"One does what one have to-..."
"And a history of destroying historically important artifacts and monuments... In fact, I seem to recall that you are a wanted man over in Egypt?"
"Well-..."
"And Mexico, I understand?"
"That was-..."
"And Indochina? And Peru? And Japan? And then of course, there's the matter of your little Chinese adventure..."
"Now, err, about China-..."
"Indeed, most archaeologists in the Reich have it that you're not even an archaeologist at all, but merely a glorified tomb raider, who-..."
"How about we carry on this conversation in English, bitte? Wouldn't want your boys to overhear something they should?"
Reichsaufstieg shrugged, and reached for his pocket.
"Zure, why not?" he said with a heavy German accent. Rivers moved to his gun, but the Gruppenführer raised his hands, showing that he was only holding a package of cigarettes and a lighter. Rivers relaxed.
"So, you seem to know an awful lot about me, don't you, Gruppenführer Manfred Reichsaufstieg, or should I call you by your real name, Manfred von Richthofen?"
The Gruppenführer smiled.
"So you know ze truth, huh?"
"Actually, I only ever heard a rumour. I took a chance."
The Red Baron was enjoying this.
"How did you survive, Baron?" Rivers continued.
"Oh, ze same old story, same old. I crashed by ze Somme, that's true, but I was fortunate enough to be rescued by a poor French farm girl. She didn't know who I was, but she fell in love with me, and hid me away, nursing me back to health. By the time I had recovered, I found the war to be over, my Kaiserreich no more, replaced by a pitiful Weimar Republic. So, I decided zere was no more reason for there to be a Red Baron von Richthofen. That day Manfred Reichsaufstieg was born."
"And that's when you decided to join the Nazi Party?"
"Well, zere were a couple of years in-between, but-... well, zis story, it's for another day."
"Put the codex back, Baron. You and all your minions. Get out of here, blast this tomb shut, and let's pray that humans never discover this place ever again. In return, I'll let you go."
The Red Baron laughed.
"Zehehe! Zo, you know what this is then, do you, Professor Rivers?"
"It's written in large runic letters above the entrance, and on the countless boulders before this tomb, urging people to turn away."
"Why of course, Jackson Rivers himself, fluent in dozens of languages, among them Etruscan, Middle Japanese, Babylonian, Atlantean, and of course... Old Norse. So you know about the Legend of Ragnvald Helfari?"
"Who do you take me to be?" Rivers shrugged. "Basically an ancient Scandinavian variation of the legend of Orpheus and Eurodice. Ragnvald was the greatest Viking chieftain of his age, leading expeditions to the Rus, Byzantium, apparently, he even made it all the way to India. He came back a wealthy, powerful man, and yet, all his treasure couldn't console him when his beloved wife died. He swore to get revenge, and so sought out the entrance to Hel itself, to drag her back to the world of the living, to Midgård.
"And he found it, somewhere in the darker reaches of the world, and with his famous crew ventured in thither. He never found his wife. All his crew perished. Ragnvald was the only man to make it out. The rest were lost. Heartbroken, he came back and wrote down his long Saga in a codex. The Saga was said to contain the instructions for how one could find the Gates of Hel and enter it once again, but his people, afraid of what might happen if the Gates were once again broken, refused to keep the book with them. Ragnvald had seen enough fire for all eternity during his travels, and so requested a burial in the mountains. Eternal dreamless sleep. And his people, they buried his book with him. The very codex you are now holding."
The Red Baron had been nodding appreciatively all the way through Rivers' recollection of the legend.
"And do you believe it? Do you believe there truly are Gates to Hell to be found?"
"When the world was younger, stranger things were happening. And all legends have an element of truth to them. Hel, Hades, Xibalba, Naraka. They are all just different words, all referring to the same place."
"Then perhaps you would want to join me in zis... grand archaeological endeavor?"
"I wouldn't presume. Put the codex back, Baron. I don't know who Mr. Hitler thinks he's kidding when he thinks that he can open the Gates to Hell, but if he's successful, he can only certain that the Ruler of Hell will look no more fondly on his desires than he did on Ragnvald's. The Lord of the Underworld does not readily make alliances."
"Oh, but Professor Rivers, we are not looking for an alliance! We are looking for an invasion!"
Rivers now started laughing.
"An invasion?! Why would anyone ever want to invade Hell?"
"To seize the arsenals of the underworld."
"Do you know how crazy that sounds? Invade an armory to seize the arsenal? Why, that would be as insane as-... as-...?"
"Storming ze Bastille?"
"Well, yeah, but, in all logical probability that shouldn't by any reasonable narrative have been successful. You're not looking at the Ancient Regime here. Whatever weaponry you think you can steal from the Lord of the Underworld can just as easily be turned against you, especially if you walk through the front door."
"Ja, indeed, except if we were to have a zertain zpecial weapon which, went turned on any earthly power would be utterly useless, but when turned against the forces of Hell would spell our overwhelming victory..."
"Spell your overwhelming victory-...?"
Rivers stopped. Then he realized.
"So that rumour is also true. You have found the Spear of Destiny."
"With it in our hands, we shall march into Hell and claim the weapons of damnation for ourzelves. And zen, we shall turn it on the world. Your little experiments of zmashing atoms against one another won't zave you then...!"
"Very well", said Rivers, "Then I guess I have no choice but to stop you all here and now..."
The Red Baron drew his gun and shot, but Jackson Rivers had already jumped out of the entrance into the tomb, rolling and disappearing among the lot. The German soldiers started shooting towards his general direction.
"Stop it!" the Baron yelled out. "The bullets might ricochet!"
"What was that about, Gruppenführer?" one soldier asked.
"Nothing! Find the man and bring him to me!"
The soldiers spread out, and started methodically searching through the spacious chamber. Sounds could be heard, steps, but it was difficult to tell from whence they were coming, whether it was Rivers or the soldiers. The echos played tricks on the ears.
Suddenly one soldier was hit in the head by something sharp and fell down. His comrade standing next to him, bent over concerned, only to be hit in the head with the same object. The Red Baron immediately realized what was going on.
"Be careful! Jackson Rivers was orphaned at age 5, grew up with the savage natives of Australia, he is an expert with that boomerang! It always returns to him!"
There was a sound from behind the gilded longship, a small fizzling bottle flew out.
An explosion.
The soldiers turned away in confusion.
"A Molotov cocktail, but only a diversion!" the Red Baron called out. "Keep steady!"
There was another chunking sound, and a further soldier fell to the ground.
"Verdammter Australier!"
The confusion continued. Another molotov cocktail came flying. Now from an entirely different direction. The soldiers started shooting again in the direction from whence the bottle had come from, but they hit nothing. Instead, yet another soldier was knocked out by the boomerang.
"For the love of God, stop shooting!" the Red Baron called out.
The events continued, one after another, the soldiers kept getting knocked out. Finally, only the Red Baron was still standing up. He picked up one of the flashlights the soldiers had dropped and looked around. He was careful. Trying his very best to remain and look calm, yet being nervous inside. His other hand held fast to his gun, with the codex containing the Saga of Ragnvald Helfair tucked beneath his arm.
"Got him, Gruppenführer!"
It was Armbrüster. He came out from behind the longship. Before him was Jackson Rivers, with his arms raised in the air, one hand holding the boomerang, behind him walked the military engineer, pointing a gun at Rivers' back.
"It was quite easy, sir, all I had to do was wait in the same hidden space, and know that eventually, he would have to-..."
In a single moment, Rivers turned around, knocked out Armbrüster cold with his boomerang, and grabbed the gun the military engineer had been holding. The event took place too fast, the Red Baron didn't have time to register or respond. Rivers pointed the gun right up into the Baron's face.
"Drop your weapon."
Bitterly, Manfred von Richthofen obliged.
"Now then..." Rivers said, smiling. "I think it's only appropriate that you hand that book back to Mister Ragnvald over there, I think he's-..."
Why was everything suddenly so dark? thought Jackson Rivers. And oddly comfortable and warm for a late autumn night in Nor-...
Oh.
…
…
Fuck.
…
"Thank you, Hermann, that was very smart of you, playing knocked out like that!" Richthofen, or Reichsaufstieg, offered.
"Just doing my job, Gruppenführer."
"Like any good patriotic German boy would! I can assure you that whatever rewards where to be given you for finding this place will be tripled. You truly did a good deed here today."
Hermann glanced at the dead Australian beside them.
"Who was he?"
"One of the Reich's most dangerous enemies. You-... You didn't hear our conversation?"
"I'm afraid I don't speak English, Gruppenführer."
"Oh." the Red Baron realized, "Of course."
"What was all that about?"
"He stood in our way, and came quite close to bringing an end to all our hard work."
"And that?" Hermann gestured to the codex.
"This, Gefreiter, is the key to the door. The door to our victory. And you just guaranteed it for us."
For the first time in a long while, Hermann felt relieved and at peace. He had shown bravery, he had shown ingenuity, he had fought and he had accomplished something tangible. And indeed, if the Gruppenführer were to be believed, this book, whatever it was, would soon help the Reich triumph on the battlefield.
Hermann looked forward to peace one day being restored to the world and the Fatherland. He looked forward to the promise that he would get recognition for having played part in accomplishing this, however small the role was.
But most of all, Hermann looked forward to returning to the barracks and finally get some sleep in a warm bed.
Hermann was happy.
He was one of the good guys.
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